


Festive Funn

by SupposedToBeWriting



Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Fluff, Found Family, Humor, M/M, Romance, Second first kiss, unestablished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupposedToBeWriting/pseuds/SupposedToBeWriting
Summary: Georgie, Antigone, and Rudyard anticipate spending a nice, cozy Christmas Eve amongst themselves. However, as the night goes along, they come to the realization that Chapman's spending the night alone. The kindly, neighborly thing to do would be to invite him over ... as much as it might kill them.
Relationships: Eric Chapman/Rudyard Funn
Comments: 18
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Just a quick note that this fic is technically a sequel to my other Chapyard fic, The Blizzard of Piffling Vale: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/26608843/chapters/64878352
> 
> BUT! It's not at all vital to understanding the story, and can actually be summed up in a single sentence: Two weeks ago, Rudyard and Chapman were snowed into a cafe and shared a kiss - but they were rescued before they could properly talk about i

A change seemed to sweep over Piffling Vale during the winter season. The first feeling of it usually came in mid-November, on the annual Diwali festival that the mayor organized some years ago. It was exacerbated through Hanukkah, quickened during any impromptu snowstorms, suffered well into Christmas, became tedious through the Winter Solstice, and finally became absolutely absurd on New Year’s Eve. By New Year’s Day, the citizens of Piffling Vale seemed to flush that insufferable feeling from their systems and go about their daily lives.

The insufferable feeling, as far as any of the Funns or Georgie could tell, was the feeling of _community._ Of _family._ It ravaged the citizens of Piffling Vale with its sheer and brutal cheer, leading some to feel like they’d walked into a parallel universe where people’s hearts were made out of whimpering puppies and their brains out of chocolate oranges.

Rudyard muttered as much under his breath as he peered out the window for, perhaps, the thousandth time that morning.

There were other holidays, of course, religious and secular alike, that took place every other part of the year.. Why was it the winter season that _families_ came around, visiting from mainland England and Europe and, very likely, the entire world? Why was it the winter season that caused citizens of Piffling Vale to organize holiday party after holiday party, excuses to all gather together in abominable jumpers and sip hot chocolate and ooh and aah at the snow? It was utter nonsense. Brain-rotting, artificially sweet, terrible nonsense.

And if Rudyard felt it a little more intently this season, well - he supposed nobody could blame him. Naught more than two weeks ago, he was snowed into a cafe with Eric Chapman for twelve hours ( _practically_ shaved years of his life off, it felt like). During their imprisonment, Chapman had kissed him – and although Rudyard could pretend to be stoic about it all he liked, the simple fact of the matter was that he had kissed Chapman back.

And promptly avoided thinking about it ever since.

Hadn’t been hard to avoid either the thought or the man. As to be expected, their number of funerals had been slim for a little while (though Rudyard privately hoped for someone’s elderly auntie or uncle to keel over at some point, perhaps drum up some business). Chapman had came around exactly once, at least a week ago, and Rudyard had fled like a mouse upstairs until Georgie was finished dealing with him. He hadn’t asked what Chapman had wanted, and Georgie hadn’t volunteered the information, so it must not have been important.

He hadn’t told anyone about the shared embrace they’d had in the cafe, either. He was perfectly fine not thinking about it for the rest of his life.

“Squeak.” ( _“You know I don’t like it when we just stand here and stare out the window, Rudyard. I can’t see much and you’re not very good at external narration.”)_

“I’m getting _better_ at it,” Rudyard returned, injured. Behind him, he could hear Georgie and Antigone fussing over a bit of tinsel. They weren’t the overly religious sort, not really, but it had become clear that Georgie had been infected by that awful _community_ sensation going through the citizens and had brought home a _tree_ that was going to be put up in their _home,_ where they _lived_ and _ate_ and _did business_ _._ ‘It’s an excuse to give each other presents and sit around the fire, boss’, his arse.

Still, he supposed he was wearing a jumper with a reindeer on it. The nose properly lit up, thanks to a battery pack in a small pocket that he’d sewn in. And Madeline rather liked the warm little battery pack; she said it was rather cozy to curl up against … to which Rudyard couldn’t argue much.

He returned his gaze outside. The awful snowstorm from a few months ago had more-or-less melted away, but there was still enough snow on the ground to make walking around quite miserable – perhaps only to him, however, because he’d seen plenty of people trampsing around earlier in the day. Sometimes the snow seeped into his boots, thin as they were. “I’m looking across the courtyard,” Rudyard announced softly to the mouse. He could just see the edges of a few whiskers poking out of his pocket. “At – certainly _not_ at Chapman’s.”

“Squeak.” ( _“Why are you looking over at Chapman’s, Rudyard? You’ve explained to me – at length, on numerous occasions – that you don’t want anything to do with the man.”)_

“I don’t.”

“Squeak.” ( _“Had your fill in that cafe, I imagine.”)_

“ _Madeline!”_ Rudyard hissed into his pocket, warmth pouring into his cheeks. God help him, if mices could giggle, she’d be _beside herself_ in his pocket. As it was, he saw the twitching of her whiskers. Yes, he supposed that nobody else knew besides Madeline, and she had always been the most trustworthy – if teasing – confidante. Whether it would appear in her latest book, Rudyard was too frightened to ask.

But it was true enough, what she said. His gaze kept drifting over the town courtyard to the obscene megaplex that Chapman had pulled together during his short stay there. The lights were dark, though. Rudyard checked the clock – not even 7 PM. _That_ was unusual. He opened his mouth to remark as much before Antigone voiced his thoughts for him, appearing like a spectre at his side.

“Is Chapman not throwing one of his holiday parties tonight?” She rasped, and Rudyard – in that moment – felt a rare burst of sheer fondness. Perhaps he and Antigone didn’t always get along, but if they could bond in their mutual loathing … well, it was something to be getting on with. He could rag on Chapman for _hours._ “Thank _Christ._ I could _feel_ the festivities all the way from over here all week. Think that’s why I’ve been feeling nauseated.”

“If they were any louder, I would’ve went on to file a noise complaint somewhere about it.” It actually hadn’t been audible at all from Funn Funerals with the courtyard in the way. But complaining about things felt _good._ And it would’ve _also_ felt good to file a noise complaint, but the mayor wouldn’t have looked twice at it.

“Yeah, was talkin’ with the ferryman today,” Georgie called over from across the room. She had partially scaled the staircase to readjust the branches of the _bloody awful big tree_ that she’d personally dragged into their home. Usually, that corner was where they would have potential customers to sit. But … well. Least something was filling the space. “He ferried over _dozens_ of people, he said, all folks’ families. They’re probably all having quiet nights in. Don’t really want to drag someone to a ragin’ party their first night in Piffling, do ya?”

“ _Raging party,”_ Rudyard sniffed derisively. “Probably quite boring. Probably serves them fruitcake.”

“I dunno, I think they could be interesting enough, but figured it wouldn’t really be you or Antigone’s thing.” At the comment, Antigone let out an agreeable titter. “He came around to invite us – well, it was funny, actually.”

That set off an alarm in Rudyard’s mind. Feeling his back stiffen, he stayed well looking out the window at the darkened rival funeral home. He wondered where Chapman actually slept – actually, the man probably didn’t sleep, did he? Probably just had a caffeine drip to keep puttering along. Like some sort of robot. “Funny?”

“Yeah. He invited you, first off, Rudyard. He said ‘I’ll be having little get-togethers all this week, if Rudyard wants to come around and show his face’ – and then he corrected himself, really quickly, said that me and Antigone were invited, too, just the name of the funeral home got stuck in his mind.”

“ _My_ last name is Funn, too!”

“And you’re about equally as likely to go to one of Chapman’s holiday parties!” Rudyard agreed with her, before clasping his hands behind his back. His first instinct had been to cross them in front of his chest, but that would have the unintended side effect of flattening his dear mouse friend. “Good Lord. Why did he invite _me_ first?”

Even if he would vehemently deny it to any and all who asked, Rudyard nevertheless suspected the reason. Chapman wanted to talk. About the kiss. That would not be thought about. No, he probably wanted to do something other than talk – _mock._

Silence passed through the three of them, punctuated only by Georgie leaning over the railing to hang another ornament on the tree. Timmy trotted on by with one (thank god, one that was made of cloth and stuffing and not one that was made of glass and pointy bits) in his mouth. “Me and Antigone were talking about that, actually. Figure it might’ve been trauma bonding.”

“ _Trauma bonding!?_ What, because of that stint in the cafe – “

Antigone broke in first. “You _have_ to admit it’s affected you, Rudyard. I know it was nothing violent, nothing gory – “

“Squeak!” ( _“I beg to differ! I found a dead body in the freezer!”)_

“But you’ve been acting _differently.”_

The hands clasped more tightly behind Rudyard’s back. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, you know,” Georgie drawled from the tree. “Besides sprinting on up the stairs whenever you hear someone at the front door? Great for business, that.”

“ _And_ you’ve stayed in the funeral home more than _I_ have since everything’s happened. And that’s _certainly_ saying something, Rudyard, people will start getting the idea that you’ve up and died!”

Rudyard had to begrudgingly admit that he had been a homebody rather recently. Chapman had the most peculiar way of finding him out in the village, and given that Chapman had apparently wanted to invite him _personally_ to his get-together – well. Rudyard was confident that he made the right decision in staying home.

“Oh, _please._ It’s just cold. That’s all. I can’t speak for Chapman, he might’ve been far more affected than I given his constitution – “ There, Georgie snorted. He caught sight of his sister giving him a side-eye. “But _I_ certainly don’t feel bonded to him, traumatically or otherwise.”

“If you say so, boss.” The window had started to fog up, and Rudyard rubbed it clean with the corner of his sleeve. “What did you two talk about, anyway? You were trapped in there an awful long while for smalltalk.”

“Who’s to say that we talked?” Rudyard shot back. “We just sat in silence.”

“There was only one blanket out there. You just sat there in silence, cuddling together for warmth?”

He forced a grimace on his face. “And despised every moment of it. The both of us.” No, this was getting dreadfully close to thinking about it. Rudyard straightened his spine and stared at the window, down at the darkened funeral home across the courtyard. Perhaps Chapman had finally gotten the hint and fled the country. Or perhaps –

A light clicked on in the front lobby area/bar/cafe of Chapman’s. It only served to make the rest of the complex so much _bigger,_ seemingly dwarfing that tiny orange light in the front room. He bit the bottom of his lip. So much for hoping that Chapman had a secret family to get to, away from Piffling Vale and away from _him._

In the courtyard, a snow had lightened considerably. Rudyard instinctively flinched away at the thought of it – good lord, he had had _enough_ of damnable _snow_ – but this was only a dusting. He would be okay. The flakes were sparse and light enough to dance in the streetlights, pirouetting this way and that before coming to a noble end on the stone pathways below. The dark night sky seemed to bulge with it. Perhaps it would snow all night, and yet, Rudyard suspected that none would accumulate. It would all be gone by dawn before anyone had to worry about it. In that way, more than others, the snow felt like a gift.

“I just feel bad for him, y’know.” Georgie seemingly finished the last of the ornaments and hopped from the banister to the wooden floor with a _slap!_ of her rubber soles. A bit of tinsel was draped around her neck like a boa; shiny plastic shards had lodged in her hair and jumper. Rudyard’s eyes dipped down. The snowflake on her jumper was wearing sunglasses. “All alone on Christmas Eve. Even if he doesn’t celebrate, it’s still sad, don’t you think? Feeling like everyone’s getting together without you.“

Oh. Good lord, in all of his loathing and dreading and avoiding, Rudyard had nearly forgotten. His breath caught in his throat; his mouth dropped open in a minor gape. He could see his shocked expression through the window.

“Oh,” he verbalized in a sad, soft tone. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking loudly enough to be heard by even Antigone beside him. “It’s Christmas Eve. So it is.”

He had known it was late December, of course, but things had been so frightfully hectic (not for business, _good lord,_ not for business, but for his own personal life) that he’d nearly forgotten about it. That everything had just swelled up like a bubble ready to burst and _surprise, it’s a Christmas cracker!_

“I _swear,_ Rudyard, you never pay attention to _anything.”_ Antigone was grousing beside him. Ah, so she had heard. Excellent. Just what he wanted for the holiday: badgering from his sister. “Of course it’s Christmas Eve! What day did you think it was?”

“Don’t worry, boss, I’ve got you covered. Wrapped all your presents for you and everything. And, if you don’t mind me saying so, I really liked what you got me. Thanks.”

In that moment, Rudyard knew he probably should’ve been at least lightly concerned for the invasion of privacy. He had squirreled away his gifts (he had only bought for two, and he hadn’t bought presents for Georgie a long while after it would’ve been appropriate to do so, but he wasn’t _good_ at knowing those sort of things) on the top of his closet, and yet, Georgie had not only found them, but _known_ who they were meant to be for.

Well, Rudyard supposed, his face coloring dark. He supposed that they were different enough to know. Georgie had received a pair of knitting needles sharp enough to be considered weapons, after all, which was something Antigone wouldn’t be keen on. “Of course you’re welcome for it. You’re an invaluable – “ He wasn’t any good at this when he was being put on the spot. He half-choked on his own spit and swallowed hard. “It’s-the-least-I-can-do-for-you, Georgie, really,” he instead muttered through gritted teeth, as quickly as possible, and he knew in a heartbeat that Georgie hadn’t been able to pick out what he said. But she clearly caught the gist, because when he turned around to look at her, she was smiling, The edge of the tinsel was slapped across his nose fondly.

“He’s in his front room, still. I’m surprised that nobody’s invited him around to their families, given that everybody in Piffling Vale’s attended at least one of his parties.”

“Squeak.” ( _“Except for us, even though I so looked forward to going.”)_

“They’ve not invited him because he’s _dreadful,_ Antigone, I can’t believe you haven’t still realized that by now.” Rudyard turned away from Georgie to face his sister. Antigone was wearing, as she always did, a black dress that reached well down to her ankles. The only thing that really seemed to pull apart her outfit from the every-day was the reindeer headband. Two bells dangled from each of the two antlers, jingling softly every time Antigone so much as inclined her head.

To her credit, Antigone did glare at him so fiercely that Rudyard momentarily forgot to giggle at the jingly bells on her head. “Is there _any_ call to be _so_ rude to him today, Rudyard? Just because we’ve always had each other – “

“Oh, is that meant to be a _good_ –”

“ _Yes,_ you insufferable little man, because we’d both be worse off if –”

“ _Did you just call me a little man – !”_

An outstretched hand slid in between the two of them, like a traffic arm being lowered. “ _Stop,_ the two of you. Honestly. Can’t we just have one day where you’re not bickering? At the very least, you can come and help me put the rest of the decorations up.” Behind her, Rudyard could see at least three more boxes on the stairwell. Ever since Georgie had started really celebrating with them – well, there certainly hadn’t been any _ho-ho-hos_ in Funn Funeral before she had drug over her impressive quantity of decorations. “Stockings and all need to be done. And the cider ought to be finished by now.”

Antigone had made a frankly horrifying quantity of apple cider, earlier. Rudyard had offered that they keep it in one of the bins, simply because that was the largest volume container that they had in their possession. And she had considered it, but eventually decided against it. For the best, given the strange substance growing at the bottom of theirs And now, every cup, bowl, measuring apparatus, and _spoon_ in their household was filled with it. Antigone had sheepishly admitted that she used the same amount of cinnamon she would’ve to perfume up a body and had scaled the apples up appropriately.

… Rudyard couldn’t be too frustrated at it. Home did smell very nice. Warm, and comforting, without a hint of the mold that they’d been fighting off or the corpses resting in the basement below them.

Antigone had returned her gaze to the window, to that one solitary orange light shining from Chapman’s. “I’m going to bring him some apple cider,” she announced, turning on her heel to face Rudyard. “To let him know we’re thinking of him. And to get rid of the stuff.”

“To let him know – we are most certainly _not_ thinking of him!” Rudyard retorted hotly. No, he was not. He hadn’t thought one singular _iota_ of Chapman or his turtlenecks or his surprisingly soft lips that had tasted like industrial-strength cleaner. Not one iota. Not him. Not Rudyard Funn. “Are you thinking of him? I thought you’d gotten over your little –”

“ _Please._ This isn’t about that. Look, regardless of your little rivalry you’ve got with him, he’s alone. On Christmas Eve. It won’t do anybody any harm to drop off a little thermos of cider.” Antigone stuck her chin up at him. “And if you’re going to throw an awful fuss about it, I’ll go on my own. You’re not my keeper, Rudyard.”

Oh, _no._ No, no, no, he most certainly wasn’t going to allow Antigone to go on her own. Not due to any sort of misogynistic domination he held over his sister, lord no, but he _knew_ how things were going to proceed if Antigone went over there on her own. Chapman was going to be charming and light-hearted and friendly and charm her so entirely that he’d be waltzing over here to spend Christmas Eve, no _sir,_ Rudyard wasn’t going to let that happen. This night was going to be for family, and even if it pained him to admit it, he was looking _forward_ to spending the evening with Antigone and Georgie and Madeline. Sod everyone else, everyone else were loons for caring for their fellow man, he was the only sensible one who cared for the only sensible people in the world. Georgie, Antigone, Madeline.

_Not Chapman._

“ _Fine._ Where’s my coat?” Rudyard grumbled as he stumbled off towards the coat rack. Timmy was making quick work of the mouse-shaped ornament on the first step, and he automatically covered his short pocket. “Oh, _Lord,_ Madeline, avert your eyes! Georgie, please don’t let your furry creature traumatize mine, thank you. “

“Squeak.” (“ _I’m not a trembling waif, Rudyard, there’s no need to protect me.”)_

“It’s only sensible.”

“Alright, Timmy, drop – _drop it._ No, that’s a bad boy. _Drop it. Drop iiiiiit._ There you go, now that wasn’t so hard, huh. Now look, you’ve chewed one of the eyes off.”

“Squeak.” ( _“Oh dear.”)_

In the meanwhile, Antigone had retreated to the kitchen. He heard her hum as she got something together, and when she returned, she was closing the lid off a lightly steaming thermos. The thermos was dark green; he recalled Antigone bringing it to the morgue to sip coffee out of from time to time. Hopefully she’d cleaned it – or at least not stuck anything _too_ caustic in it beforehand. “Are you sure you want to come with me, Rudyard? If you hate him so much, I mean. I’m perfectly capable of delivering thermos on my own, I’m not going to freeze to death out there. If I were, there’s not much you can do about it.”

Rudyard tugged a scarf around his neck tightly. One of Antigone’s early Christmas gifts to him had been a proper scarf and earmuffs, so that he wasn’t scrounging for every scrap of fabric they had before going outside. He didn’t quite like how furry the earmuffs were, but they made _delightful_ beds for Madeline at night when she couldn’t quite make it to the miniature mouse-sized beds Rudyard had made her. “Of course I’m going. It’s practically the middle of the night.” He glanced at the clock. Seven PM. Bother. “He might scoop out your insides for organ trafficking.”

Georgie had picked up another box of decorations on the step, walking down. “I think if he’s getting into organ trafficking, he’ll use all the corpses that he’s got with him. They’d squirm much less than Antigone would.”

“Yes. Well.” Point obviously taken, Rudyard wrinkled his nose and stuffed his mittens on. Madeline crawled out of the pocket in his shirt and, with surprising dexterity, climbed to rest on one of his outer pockets. Rudyard hastily buttoned it shut to make certain the winter chill wouldn’t get to her. “There’s nothing like fresh organs. Frozen ones don’t have the nicest texture.” To that, Antigone murmured her agreement.

“We’ll be back in a bit, Georgie, to help you with things. Keep the fire going and keep an eye on dinner?” Antigone appropriately donned her winter apparel, though Rudyard had to wonder the efficacy of lace gloves with holes in them. Seemed positively Victorian.

Box in hands, Georgie smiled brightly. “You two have got it. See you in a tick.”

There was a moment of hesitation that Rudyard felt as strongly as his twin sister did. The idea of leaving Georgie alone, even for ten consecutive minutes, felt instinctively hurtful on a night like this. This was meant to be a night where they were together, and … good _Lord,_ they were being silly, weren’t they? Absolutely ridiculous. Sentimental and soft and rotting, like pumpkins being left too long. Rudyard blinked at himself and opened the door for his sister. Together, the two sauntered into the cold.

He did not let himself think about how Chapman would feel. He had been alone for so much longer than ten minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

“Have we got to go in?” Rudyard found himself asking in a voice almost akin to a whine. “We could just leave it on the doorstep, knock, and run.”

“We’re not going to leave it on the doorstep. The whole point of this is that he knows someone is thinking of him. If we leave a thermos of hot cider outside for him, he’s going to think we’ve poisoned it.”

“He’ll only think it’s poisoned if he realizes it’s from us,” Rudyard whispered fiercely. Antigone’s look, again so hard that it jingled the bells on her headband, made him stop. Rudyard sighed. “Fine, fine. Let’s go ahead and get this over with.”

After all, he was an adult. So was Antigone. And he, as an adult, could handle seeing a man that he had shared an intimate moment with some weeks before. Certainly he could. They would drop it off, ‘happy holidays Chapman’, and run off into the night. Antigone shifted the thermos to her other hand so she could open the door. Above it, a cheerful bell rang, indicating their entry – for one moment, it rang in ear-ringing cacophony with Antigone’s.

Chapman was standing at the edge of his bar, broom in hand, deer in headlights. A bolt of joy struck Rudyard at first – Chapman was wearing a _ridiculous_ bloody jumper, wasn’t he, it made him look like some sort of slack-jawed fool, who wore a jumper that lit up these days, and it had a reindeer, like _that_ wasn’t some massive cliché, and –

Oh. That … that looked rather similar, didn’t it? Good lord, it might even be the same size. Fearful, he looked down to his chest, but thankfully it was obscured by his coat. He was going to burn the damn thing the first chance he got, apparently.

“If it isn’t the Funns! Happy holidays!” Chapman greeted them both, his face relaxing into a smile. His eyes fell to Rudyard and lingered there; they instantaneously made eye contact. Rudyard broke it off to stare curiously at the floor in front of him. He could almost see his reflection in it. Even if it was cleaner than anything in the Funn residence, Chapman needed a hobby. “I hope you two weren’t here for the holiday party? I’m afraid that was yesterday, but if you really liked, I’m sure I could drum something up. Have you eaten? What can I help you with?” Chapman put the broom down and, after a furtive glance upward, Rudyard saw that he was coming in for a hug.

In perfect synchronization, both Rudyard and Antigone took a large step backwards. Chapman’s arms were instantly dropped, but his grin remained.

“Ah, no. We can’t stay long, actually.” Antigone held out the thermos over to him. “But we’ve just made an awful lot of apple cider, and thought that – well, it’s nearly Christmas. Or whatever holiday you might celebrate. Or if that holiday’s already past, think of it as a belated holiday present. Or even if you don’t celebrate a holiday, just something nice for neighbors. I mean, all things considered, you can think of it as a temporary peace offering if you’d prefer.” _Oh, blast. I could very well have poisoned the apple cider, that’d make me rid of Chapman. Why do I always think of these things too late?_

The gears whirred in Chapman’s head for a moment, before he reached out and took the thermos. And Rudyard watched as his gaze softened immeasurably, becoming even vulnerable. His smile fell a little, not due to any sort of sadness, but from sheer surprise. “Oh – oh. Oh, you two. That’s very sweet, that you _two_ were thinking of me.”

Rudyard wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, the emphasis placed on _two._ But Antigone had sent him a pointed look, perhaps at his silence so far, and Rudyard cleared his throat. “It’s not poisoned,” he advised with as much cheer that he could.

“Wouldn’t that be a Christmas surprise! Not the first time that I’d been poisoned on Christmas, though that was – “ He held up his free hand. “You don’t want to hear my stories. Still, so kind of you two to deliver it in person. Rudyard, I never thought I’d see you out of your funeral home ever again. I hope you haven’t been too terribly affected by the, uh, what happened in the cafe.”

No, that definitely was not his imagination. Chapman was staring at him unblinkingly, as if trying to get some sort of hidden message across. What happened, indeed. Rudyard was not going to think about it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he added with a sniff. “I’ve been out and about plenty. I’m perfectly fine. And it’s barely snowing.”

“Squeak.” (“ _You’re behaving like a child, Rudyard. Let me out, it’s getting stuffy in your pocket.”)_

He was not going to dignify _that_ with a response. Still, he reached down to loosen the button holding his pocket closed. Out came Madeline, scurrying up his torso and resting on his shoulder.

“Oh, Madeline! Hello there, sweetheart. Hope you’re doing well. Your whiskers look _awfully_ nicely groomed today.”

“Squeak.” (“ _Rudyard, what a gentleman he is!”)_

“Yes, certainly a far cry from the man I met in the cafe, isn’t he? He treated you like some common house mouse?” Rudyard grumbled into his shoulder, before returning his gaze to Chapman. “Look here. We just got the impression that you might appreciate some sort of thoughtful endeavor, because we saw that there was only the one light on in your home, and we realized that you were probably … _alone.”_

At ‘alone’, Rudyard’s gaze jumped off Chapman again to get a better look at where they were standing. There was not only one _room_ lit in Chapman’s home, there was only one _light –_ the incandescent over the bar, throwing deep, dark shades to all the furthest corners of the room. Of course, it was lavishly decorated, including what looked like a prize-winning Christmas tree stuck up in the corner. Presents were piled beneath them. Garlands and tinsel and all matter of lights decorated seemingly every available bit of space. There were little bowls of Christmas pretzels and peanuts and sweets out. It was almost as if he were preparing for a party – or that nobody had come.

_Alone_ seemed to echo off the floors and walls. _Alone. Alone. Alone._

And the way Chapman looked at them, for just a moment, rattled Rudyard’s defenses. The smile was washed off his face entirely. His shoulders slumped forward, causing both ends of Rudolph’s antlers on his jumper to droop. For all of Chapman’s grandeur, for all his presence, for all his misdeeds and malevolent endeavors – he was a man standing alone in an inviting room.

“Ah, yes, well,” Chapman reconsidered. “You know how it is, I suppose, surely, everyone’s off with their families and the like on Christmas Eve proper.” An awkward pause swelled between them, and he reached to unscrew the thermos. “Let’s see how this is, shall we?”

He poured himself a cup and brought it to his lips. Rudyard was confronted with the fact that this was the first time he’d seen him since the incident in the cafe. He wasn’t sure why he expected Chapman to look different, perhaps with pointed horns and a long tail. He wasn’t sure why he expected _himself_ to feel different – like seeing Chapman would shatter his carefully constructed reality that he’d made for himself.

But, no, no. Chapman was just a person. Bane of his existence, certainly, but the dread that had swelled in him before they’d come in started to leak out.

He swallowed it down with a satisfied noise and beamed at the two of them. “Who made this? Antigone, was this you? It’s absolutely _lovely._ Warms you right up, doesn’t it? Really makes you feel like you’re sitting ‘round a fire. It’s wonderful.”

“I use the same brand of cinnamon to make the bodies smell better.”

“ _Genius.”_

There was still a divide between them. Rudyard and Antigone were still clustered near the door, and Chapman was standing nearly eight feet away. He poured himself another bit from the thermos and swallowed it, letting out another satisfied sigh. _It’s time to go. We delivered the cider. We gave our good wishes. It’s time to go._ “Dinner will nearly be ready,” he reminded Antigone, and Antigone stared down at him knowingly. “We ought to be on our way.”

“Right. Yes, we should. Georgie’ll finish putting up all the decorations if we let her.” Antigone turned on her heel to face Chapman again. “Well, yes, have a good Christmas, Chapman, we just wanted to drop by and say hello. Rudyard, tell Chapman to have a good Christmas.”

The look Rudyard gave Antigone was impetuous and deeply childish. _No. I shan’t._ Antigone tilted her head down at a severe angle to glare at him, her bells jingling ominously.

Rudyard let out a dismissive sigh. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Have a very merry Christmas, Chapman, Antigone now if we could go – ?”

“Squeak!” (“ _Have a very merry Christmas, Chapman. I really am sorry for Rudyard. He is a dear when the mood strikes him.”)_

He aimed a glance at the traitorous mouse and turned on his heel to walk out. In doing so, however, he caught a reflection in the window pane. With Chapman standing nearly underneath the only light in the room, he was beautifully reflected in stark detail there. And – as Antigone opened the door to head outside – Rudyard just witnessed Chapman clutching onto the thermos with both hands, and looking rather like he was about to cry.

The same sensation came back as before, the one with leaving Georgie alone. Except this time was worse – this wasn’t a jaunt across the courtyard. This was leaving Chapman alone for good, to his lavishly decorated home that still seemed lifeless and empty. And Rudyard knew his master plan was to avoid Chapman, he _knew_ nothing good would come of it, but in that moment, all he could remember was the softness in Chapman’s voice and the look in his eyes.

_You’re getting old and sentimental. That’s all this is._ Rudyard groaned and pressed the palm of his hand to his eye in frustration, before turning around to face his arch-nemesis again. Chapman quickly pulled his face together and loosened his grip on the thermos. “Chapman.” Chapman’s eyes were full of lights. “If you haven’t got any other plans, you might as well come and join us. We’ve made plenty for dinner and – look, just _come.”_

Chapman took a step forward eagerly, but then seemingly stopped himself like he’d hit an invisible wall. “I – I really don’t want to impose, it’s not like I’m family or anything – “

Antigone had been momentarily shocked by Rudyard’s offer, but had pulled herself together. “Neither’s Georgie. But it’s not like we’re great family to have, anyway.”

He felt Antigone’s elbow brush his upper arm. He looked up at her, she looked down at him, and whatever she saw in his eyes seemed to surprise her. Rudyard shuddered to think that it was sincerity.

Chapman considered the offer for fifteen seconds longer, the silence spilling out, before he seemed to convince himself of it. “Ha – I … alright,” he agreed in a low tone. “I’ll come with you Funns.”


	3. Chapter 3

The walk across the courtyard had been done in silence. Chapman hadn’t needed much preparing. He had turned his single light off, replaced his broom, and then they were trudging across the light snow. He lingered just behind Antigone and Rudyard, and Rudyard couldn’t help but feel him looming over his shoulder.

Good lord, he wanted to know what Chapman was _feeling._ Perhaps the man had generated spontaneous amnesia of the whole event. Wouldn’t chance be a fine thing?

As they approached Funn Funerals, Rudyard realized that they’d left most of the lights on. The small house seemed like a veritable beacon in the courtyard, but it wasn’t the only one – many of the visible houses were absolutely brimming with light and activity. Rudyard saw a few trees up in windows, twinkling and glinting, some menorahs reflecting the light from the street lamps, a symbol for the winter solstice twinkling. Had this been Chapman’s view from his funeral home?

The snow still stirred around them, dancing and flicking across Rudyard’s coat and hair. He didn’t like hearing the third set of footsteps right behind them, didn’t like how heavy Chapman’s footfalls were. It was impossible to avoid his presence. And acknowledging his presence was getting very close to acknowledging the kiss that had occurred between them, which was not going to happen.

Rudyard almost bounded forward to open the door for Antigone and Chapman. “Georgie!” He called inside, following in soon after. “We’ve picked up a stray!”

That got an unintentional laugh out of Chapman. “Hi, yes, that’ll be me, hello.”

Georgie’s head popped down from the top of the stairs. She seemed in the process of tying elaborate bows with red fabric all down the stairposts. Her eyes went to Chapman – then Antigone – and finally settling on Rudyard with a questioning glance. “ _Sir?”_

_Well, we felt bad for him, and decided to invite him around because he just seemed so, so, sadly pathetic._ Even Rudyard knew there were limits to his animosity. That was likely to get Antigone to kick his ass and to destroy Chapman’s confidence forever – as tempting as it was. He unbuttoned his pocket and Madeline went scurrying out, disappearing somewhere underneath the tree. A few of the branches shook ominously. “Thought we’d invite him around,” he answered bluntly. Automatically, his fingers went to his zipper, before his eyes fell back on Chapman’s jumper. The glowing red nose seemed to taunt him.

No, no. No. He would be keeping the coat on, thank you very much. “I’ll get an extra plate out,” Georgie assented, before, more softly, under her breath: “Have we got another plate?”

Chapman gently placed his own coat on the other side of the chair. “Got frozen fingers, Rudyard?” He asked in a chipper voice. He reached forward and pinched the edge of Rudyard’s coat zipper. “Here, let me help you – “

The force with which Rudyard slapped Chapman’s hand away was frankly alarming, and Chapman’s hands went up in surrender. “ _Perfectly_ fine keeping the coat on, thank you! It’s actually a bit frigid in here.”

“Really?” Chapman’s finger hooked on the neck of his jumper, pulling it. “I actually thought it was a bit warm, but – “

“I’ll go and put some more logs on the fire,” Georgie announced, stepping down from the stairs. Timmy trotted obediently behind her – until he got to Chapman. As Chapman excitedly greeted the small canine, Timmy – to his credit – did not growl or bare his teeth. Instead, he simply went the long way around, skirting underneath the tree in order to follow his master. Rudyard took sadistic pleasure in the momentarily crestfallen look on Chapman’s face. “You three can finish decorating in here.”

It was around then that Rudyard was aware of Antigone regarding him with a suspicious eye. Christ, why the hell did he have to live with his _sister_ who knew him more than he knew himself some days? Just as Rudyard took a step forward to look into the box of remaining decorations, he was forcefully aware of Antigone pinching him by the collar.

“It’s _stifling_ in here, Rudyard,” she condemned through gritted teeth. “Please don’t tell me you’re embarrassed because Chapman and you are wearing the same jumper.”

“We’re – we’re _what?”_ Chapman asked with a confused smile. “We can’t be. You didn’t get yours from the little shop on the corner, did you?”

He had, in fact, because Georgie had gone out and gotten them all something to wear and Rudyard had chosen the least infernally mortifying. Antigone had refused to wear hers (Rudyard had not known that was an option), but had been granted the reindeer headband for her sins.

“No. No, had this for ages,” Rudyard lied, seemingly for no reason at all. Antigone took the opportunity to grip his coat zipper and pull it down, yanking it off his shoulders on his behalf. It was done with no small grumbling on Rudyard’s part, though he did have to admit he _was_ starting to sweat under it.

Rudyard would’ve thought that he’d told Chapman he was the most beautiful man on Earth, with the way that he was beaming at him. He focused instead on the red light-up nose on Chapman’s front, taunting him. “There, it was going to come out sooner or later. I’m not having you die of heat exhaustion on Christmas Eve,” Antigone lectured him, and Rudyard rolled his eyes at her.

“Please, you’d be _thrilled_ if I died, it’d be the closest thing we’ve had to a bonding experience in years,” he snapped.

Chapman stepped forward. A flash of indecision crossed over his face, one that Rudyard recognized well in other people. Whenever he and Antigone got in trouble in school (which wasn’t _uncommon,_ really), they were often shepherded to whoever was willing to discipline them. And he remembered the faces of those without siblings – _is this normal sibling rivalry or should we be separating them?_ _Are they going to start biting one another?_

“I – I think it looks lovely on you, Rudyard,” Chapman offered weakly, gesturing towards the reindeer nose. “Really.”

Both Rudyard and Antigone’s gazes snapped to Chapman, staring rather like he’d grown a few extra heads. Whether Rudyard looked _good_ in the jumper or not hadn’t even entered the equation, hadn’t even entered their heads as a passing thought. Antigone wrinkled her nose distastefully. “ _Eurgh._ Eric, please do us both a favor and start hanging candycanes on the tree. I’m going to see if I can’t consolidate the cider stores so we free up an extra plate for dinner.”

_Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no no no no no._ Rudyard’s eyes followed Antigone leaving the living room for the kitchen. _Please don’t leave me with Chapman, Antigone, don’t leave me with – him!_

Unfortunately, the twin mental link seemed to fail him for now. The room was silent; Rudyard felt Chapman’s eyes on him. Self-consciously, he crossed his arms over his chest.  
  


“Squeak.” (“ _Rudyard, I hate to ruin this dreadfully dramatic moment, but could you be a dear and ask Chapman to not put candycanes on the bottom-most layer of trees? I can’t abide the smell.”_

“Of course, Madeline,” Rudyard remarked, and Chapman’s expression broke into a tiny grin.

“You will have to teach me how you do that sometimes.” Rudyard shot him a look so venomous that Chapman immediately crouched and started sorting through the candycanes. “Or – or perhaps not! I don’t know. We’re getting a bit of a mice problem at Chapman’s – the winter, I think, driving them in. I’m just saying, it would be nice to have a bit of a, ah, a town hall with them.”

“Well. I doubt any of _your_ mice have a degree in English literature.”

“Squeak.” ( _“There’s no reason to lie on my behalf, though that’s dreadfully kind of you.”)_

“Too right. Too right.” Chapman withdrew with his hands stuffed full of candycanes, moving over to the tree. “Ah – want to lend a hand? If you’d … well, if you’d like.”

It was something to do with his hands, wasn’t it? And the tree – basically shaped like a circle, from a bird’s eye view – would keep him from having to look at Chapman too long, wouldn’t it? As long as he stayed on the opposite side, that being said. Rudyard gripped a handful of candycanes and went to the far side of the tree. Chapman, and his _irritating_ red bulb on his jumper, was hidden from view. “Don’t put any on the bottom-most layer. Mice don’t like mint.”

“Ah. Got it.”

And slowly, they started to work. They developed this beautifully unspoken system (at least, in Rudyard’s mind) of inching their way clockwise around the tree. Every so often, Rudyard would see a flash of gold hair or a green portion of jumper. That was manageable. He liked the rigor of it, truly, and was quite disappointed when he heard Chapman open his mouth again.

It was a whisper. A whisper meant secrets – or otherwise a private conversation. _Oh no._ “Rudyard,” Chapman started. “I – I really have been feeling dreadful about the, er – I mean, if you never want me to bring it up again, just say the word and I’ll forget it happened. But I really think we ought to talk about … about what _happened?_ Because, god knew what it meant to you, but –”

“ _Georgie!”_ Like a cat, Rudyard burst out from the other side of the tree, striding with more confidence than he really felt towards the kitchen. “Where are you with the logs for the fire? _Georgie.”_

That had been close, hadn’t it? Too close. Much much too close. If Chapman ever said the word ‘kiss’ out loud, Rudyard didn’t know what he was liable to do. And he most certainly didn’t want to talk about it, no, not at all, especially not when he was practically eight or ten inches away from the man with quite a lot of fir branches in between.

Georgie came into the kitchen through the backdoor, logs in hand. “Figured I’d take little Timmy for a walk, grant Madeline a little reprieve from his antics.” And, true to word, a panting little dog came sprinting in through the door and made for the tree. He heard Chapman’s surprised noise of greeting, and the little dog came zipping right back into the kitchen. “You sure you want me to stir up the fire? It is a little warm in here.”

“Yes, yes. Yes yes yes. That would be great, thank you.” He was hovering right behind her as she entered the living room, almost tapping out a rhythm on her shoulders with his hand. Georgie added a log to the fire, which roared appreciatively.

“Chapman, the candycanes look lovely on that. You’ve done a good job.”

Chapman was mostly obscured behind the tree, finishing up the progress that Rudyard had abandoned. “Thanks,” he intoned with a voice so glum that Rudyard flinched. _Hell. Oh, hell,_ _you’re going to blow our cover, Chapman, at least pretend to spruce yourself up a touch, wouldn’t you?_ “I. Rudyard and I make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

Rudyard’s only response was to clear his throat a few times and firmly plant himself by the fire. Not too late to fling himself into the cold winter air, was it? Perhaps go fleeing until he found water – it had been _frigid_ for weeks, surely he could just sprint across the water all the way to the mainland. No, he was _pretty_ sure that was how seawater worked during the winter, wasn’t it?

“If you’re going to stand there and do nothing, go put these stockings up. Wait, hang on - “ Georgie started to rummage through the box further. “We’ve got an extra one, I think. Chapman, that’ll be yours.”

Chapman started to extricate himself from behind the tree. Rudyard saw that he was entirely red-faced, as bright as the bulb sticking out of his jumper. “Oh – oh, Georgie, that’s so incredibly sweet, but you don’t have to do that, ha.” He was trying to maintain his composure, Rudyard could see. Trying to be cool and lovable. _Deceptive._ “I’m only a guest.”

“Psh. It’s just a stocking. Here, Rudyard.”

Rudyard took the stocking obediently and turned around. There were already nails sticking out of the mantle – overall, it had seemed far more practical to just leave the nails in there, as unsightly as they were. Besides, they had wonderful uses every now and then. Sometimes the dried laundry in front of the fire. Granted, Rudyard’s pants and Antigone’s underthings weren’t exactly _welcoming_ to potential customers, but things had to get dried somehow.

He put the stockings up over the mantle slowly. There had always been four nails hammered in there, anyway – for Antigone, for Rudyard, for their mother and father. Georgie had stitched their initials onto them – well, the three of them, at any rate. R for Rudyard. A for Antigone. G for Georgie. At the risk of putting up the initials _RAG_ on the mantle, Rudyard hummed and switched up the order. G-A-R, which left Chapman’s – except that would mean Chapman’s was next to Rudyard’s – and he definitely didn’t know what _that_ implication was, but he wasn’t sure that he liked it – but there wasn’t space otherwise – Chapman’s went right up next to Rudyard’s. G-A-R-C. Garc. Well.

“That looks very nice.” Chapman’s honey-sweet voice oozed from behind him, some distance away. “Thank you. Georgie, Rudyard, the both of you. Thank you.”

Jesus, he sounded a little _thick_ in the throat, didn’t he? The holiday cheer had clearly gripped hold of Chapman, too. Rudyard turned around to face him, and saw … yes, his eyes were almost misty.

And Rudyard liked to think of himself as heartless, as thinking of most relationships as unnecessary and vulnerable – but the truth of the matter was, he just wasn’t good with people and didn’t know what to do about it. But he could tell that Chapman was getting emotional over this one simple act – he just couldn’t tell why.

The spell was momentarily broken by Antigone stepping out of the kitchen with the timer-in-hand. She smelled heavily of cider, and there was a dark stain over the front of her dress. “I’ll need to go change, but dinner’s ready. Go ahead and start without me. _Christ,_ I’ll never get the scent of apples off of me. Not for weeks.”

Indeed, Rudyard was buffeted by the scent of fall as his sister walked past him. Well, that was what happened when you tried to store some cider in a saucer. “Thank god, I’m _starving,”_ he muttered, trouncing his way into the kitchen. Dinner was lined up in little dishware containers – mostly things from cans, but Rudyard was deeply surprised as to what Georgie could do with things in cans. It smelled heavenly, and for a second, he forgot about Chapman and his woes entirely.

He stepped forward, the plates stacked (four plates, though one did seem a little wet with cider. Rudyard hurriedly wiped and dried it off) on the counter, and acquired his food. Smaller portions of everything were acquired from everything and carefully put on the edge of his plate. As he did so, he became acutely aware of Chapman hurriedly offering to go last, and Georgie was calmly and placidly offering to let him go in front of her, besides Rudyard.

“Really, you _cooked,_ you ought to be going – “

“I don’t mind. There’s more than enough to go around.”

“I’ll just be right behind you. Best not to fluster around too much, hm?”

“It’s not like Rudyard smells or anything. I mean, any more than his usual. You can go in front of me.”

“It isn’t _about –”_

Rudyard finished his plate, grabbed a measuring cup full of cider, and stood to the side. “Georgie, he’s right,” he explained patiently. “Go on, you’ve made all this. Wait a second – what do I usually smell like?”

“Old dirt, mostly.” Georgie stepped forward, finally relenting and piling up her plate of food. “It’s not _bad.”_

“Ah, yes, silly me, I would’ve thought that old dirt would be universally a _bad_ scent. We can’t all smell like Chapman, can we?”

“Wait, hang on.” All of Chapman’s momentarily nervousness decided to dissipate. “What do I - “

“Please, like you don’t take a bath in your cologne every morning,” Georgie shot back dismissively. “Come on, we ought to go eat in front of the fire, it’ll keep your food warm.” In opposite order from where they’d arrived, they filed back into the living room: Chapman, Georgie, and finally Rudyard.

There weren’t many places to sit in the front room, though Georgie had thrown a Christmas rug down on the floor to make it, at a minimum, a little more comfortable. Chapman almost leapt into his spot – closest to the fire, furthest away from the Christmas tree. If someone were to walk in the front room; they wouldn’t be able to see him past the check-in desk. Almost like a bad game of hide-and-seek, but why on Earth would Chapman be hiding?

“Here, boss, you ought to sit next to the fire.”

That would be right next to Chapman. Rudyard glanced askance at her. “Why?”

“You were complaining about being cold, earlier?”

Ah. That he was. Rudyard looked at the myriad available spaces on the floor, but – not wanting to be proved a liar – went to go sit on the rug next to Chapman. Chapman pulled his legs up to his chest, in what looked like an extraordinarily uncomfortable position for both sitting and eating. Still, it made him seem rather small. An impressive feat, Chapman was a tall sort of man. He started to eat slowly, though at significant risk for burning his back against the fire. Every move of his seemed measured, controlled. The cider didn’t even shake in the gravy boat it was in.

Rudyard realized with a shock that it was probably the first time he (or Georgie, for that matter) had sat down all day. His legs ached with the decoration, preparing everything, handling all the business matters for Funn Funerals for the next few days. And this (his anxieties with Chapman aside) was _nice._ It was nice to simply sit in his home with the fire crackling behind him, a tree full of twinkling lights and candycanes in front of him, and the only people he loved in the world (excepting, most notably, Chapman) in his immediate grasp.

He wasn’t a sentimental sort of person, really. But in that moment, Rudyard was so desperately grateful for it all.

“Madeline,” Rudyard called out softly, placing his plate on the floor. He hunched over it. “I’ve got some food for you.”

“Squeak.” (“ _Thank you! It smells really delightful, doesn’t it?”)_ Madeline came scurrying out from underneath the tree, hopping onto the rug. She rubbed her tiny mouse hands together before starting to nibble on a bit of potato. “Squeak.” (“ _And from your plate – Rudyard, you didn’t have to do that. You look quite uncomfortable.”)_

“Well, I think all of our other crockery is currently being occupied by cider. Have you tried a bit of it? Here.” He pushed his measuring cup towards Madeline. Madeline pulled herself up on the side and ducked her nose close to it, taking a few hesitant sips.

Rudyard heard a low rumbling chuckle next to him. It was Chapman, his eyes glued to the tiny mouse perched atop his measuring cup. “That really doesn’t bother you?” He asked, gesturing towards her.

“Madeline probably grooms more than the rest of us combined.” Georgie broke in to reach forward, sliding her thumb down Madeline’s back carefully. “Seriously. Every morning while Rudyard takes his bath, she’s doing the same in the sink, and I always see her fussing with her fur in the mirror.”

“Squeak.” ( _“I just take pride in my appearance. I must be recognizable to my readers, shouldn’t I?”)_

“I like that about you, Madeline. You always smell nice.”

“Squeak.” (“ _Such a dear.”)_

Rudyard wanted to bite back a scathing comment about how he’d rather Madeline drink from his cup than Chapman, but Chapman already looked strangely defensive with how he was sitting. And – as much as Rudyard tried not to think about what happened between them – he had to begrudgingly admit that he _liked_ having Chapman here. Or, at least, Chapman hadn’t frustrated or annoyed him to a point that Rudyard would feel comfortable kicking him out.

Madeline dropped from the cup to the floor below, returning to the plate. At the same time, Antigone called from upstairs: “Rudyard! Could you give me a hand for a second?”

“ _What?_ I’m a little busy!”

“Oh, for – the buttons on my dress, you intolerable cretin!”

“Ah. Yeah, she does actually need me for that.” Rudyard popped up from where he was standing. Many of Antigone’s dresses had a long row of buttons along the back. She could get most of them done herself, and Madeline could help with the rest, but sometimes she would wander by and Rudyard would help with the top few ones. He had long since suggested getting something a bit more sensible, but that had never gone over particularly well. The buttons made the dress secure, Antigone once explained to him bizarrely. “Madeline, help yourself to whatever you’d like on my plate, or get Georgie and Chapman to get you something from the kitchen. There’s too much spilled cider lying about in the kitchen for you to be slip-sliding about in it.”

With that, Rudyard pushed himself up and went to the stairs. He was able to see Georgie’s head turn, the muffled asking of a question. Whatever it was – it made Chapman choke on his food.

Best not to think about it.


	4. Chapter 4

Antigone was sitting on her bed in the bedroom. True to word, the buttons affixed on the back of the dress, just against her shoulder-blades, were undone. Antigone’s arms had always been slightly shorter than one would expect for someone of her height, a sort of physical trait that was different but also obscure enough that Rudyard had never been able to successfully tease her for it. Calling someone ‘baby arms’ only went so far, after all. Rudyard got on his knees on the bed and reached for the bottom-most undone button. “You still reek of cider.”

“I _know.”_ Her voice was glum – but, in the mirror, Rudyard saw a mischievous glint in her eye. “So. What on Earth is bothering you about Chapman so badly?”

Oh, _no._ Rudyard kept his eyes glued to the black buttons. Black buttons on a black dress on a dim room – good _lord,_ he needed to get Antigone something that had patterns on it. And he had, actually. A black-and-purple polka-dot scarf was carefully wrapped under the tree below, dark enough that Rudyard supposed that Antigone might actually wear it.

Much easier to think of the scarf than Antigone’s question. After sufficient silence went by, Antigone tried again. “Do you want me to get rid of him, Rudyard? Honestly. I can, if you’re feeling … “ A beat passed. “Uneasy.” Probably the nicest word for what likely amounted to severe anxiety and a lifelong difficulty in finding relationships.

“No. No, no, no no no.” Rudyard sighed out, successfully managing the one button and moving onto the next. Perhaps there was no hiding it from his twin sister. Perhaps there was something to that mental link thing after all. “He’s … I couldn’t just shove him out into the cold tonight. Granted, even if I think my presence has deeply unnerved him, he’s. He’s enjoying being with people, I think. God knows _why._ ”

“You think he starts talking to himself when he’s all alone for too long? Imaginary friends, all that?”

That got a small snort out of Rudyard. “Likely.”

“What _is_ it, Rudyard?” Antigone’s gaze met his in the reflection of the mirror on her dresser. All the mischief was gone – replaced instead by deep concern. “This is more than just business rivalry. I _know_ it is. Something happened. What, when you two were stuck in the cafe?”

Perhaps if he could share it to anyone, he could share it with his sister? Hell, perhaps she would be able to proffer some advice. Not that Antigone knew much by the way of love, but she was always exceedingly sensible about things in ways that he was not. And – as much as he hated to admit it – she _had_ feelings for Chapman and then she’d lost him. Perhaps there was a technique for it.

And clearly, not thinking about What Happened wasn’t helping him, was it? Seeing Chapman was still deeply terrifying. And, realistically, he couldn’t hide from the rival funeral director forever. And the last thing he could afford was to lose his mind during a funeral.

Rudyard blamed the holiday feeling, mostly. Togetherness. Euch.

“When we were in the cafe, just before we were rescued by you and Georgie – erm, thanks again for that, by the way.” Second button successfully completed. He was left on the topmost button, and had to pull the dress a touch to make sure that it could button. “He. Chapman and I, we-” It sounded _surreal,_ didn’t it? Sounded like Mad Libs, put together. “He – no, we – oh, good Lord. I’m a grown man. He kissed me. We kissed. It was a mutual exchange.”

Antigone’s eyes and mouth flew open wide in indescribable shock.

“I _know._ I can’t put a word as to why, really, we didn’t … share immense feelings of romance, or anything. We simply did. He did, first, I think. But I returned it, so it. Shared guilt.” Rudyard didn’t want her to think that it had been anything like the filthy romance novels she used to write – not t hat Antigone would likely connect _sensual_ and _Rudyard_ within the same anthology, much less the same sentence.

“And – and – and – “ Antigone cut herself off. Rudyard realized his fingers were shaking, preventing him from doing up the last button. He dropped his hands into his lap from where he knelt on the bed, and why was he feeling like he was _confessing?_ Why did it feel like he was going to get _emotional?_ “I never knew that you had feelings for … _him!”_

“I suppose I didn’t know myself. I still don’t – I’ve tried not to think about it, after. We haven’t talked since, obviously, I – Christ, I never knew what to say, so I couldn’t face him. And I suppose that’s why we’ve been so awkward tonight.”

Antigone looked like she was trying to work her mouth over some words, but none came out. Rudyard supposed that she needed time to adjust the idea. Hell, he needed time to adjust the idea.

The memory started to spill back to him. Sitting curled up with Rudyard in the little nest that they had pulled together, of discarded outerwear and a blanket. At the moment, Rudyard had wanted nothing more than to keep kissing him. He had forgotten all his competitive feelings with the man and was wrapped up in it, and – well, he supposed the real question came down to whether he wanted to do it again.

If Chapman stomped his way up the stairs, and swept Rudyard into his arms, and kissed him – would he respond?

And Rudyard realized, with a start, that (granted, a severe reproach aside as to coming into his sister’s bedroom unannounced and kissing him in such a brutish way) he would. He would want to.

And moreso than that, moreso than that desire, Rudyard realized how much he wanted him there, with them. Today and tomorrow and all the days in the world. Chapman being there felt like the right answer on an exam. A coffin in a perfectly-shaped grave.

Rudyard’s heart sank in despair. No, there was no arguing it. Completely against his will and rather against his more rational instincts, he had developed romantic feelings for Eric Chapman. And it was so easy to get lost in them and forget about everything else, like a cozy front room on Christmas Eve during a snowstorm, that he couldn’t even bring himself to be that upset about it.

“Well?” Antigone finally asked him, and Rudyard raised his head to meet her gaze again in the mirror. “Do you think you might like him, still?”

“I. Antigone, I …” He trailed off, and he looked at his hands. No longer shaking. “I believe I might, yes. I do, despite every initial urge to hate him. And constantly reminding myself that I hate him. And degrading him at every opportunity.”

“Wow.” Antigone heaved out a lofty sigh. “He really sank his claws into this family rather completely, didn’t he?” Rudyard knew that Antigone didn’t need to clarify Georgie’s inclusion.

He returned a breathy laugh, surprised at himself. “Ha. Yes, yes, yes – I suppose that he did.”

“You know.” The mischievous tone had returned to Antigone’s voice, and Rudyard finally reached up to finish buttoning her dress. “You’re _this close_ to being too good for him, Rudyard, but you can date whatever utter failure of a man that you want.”

_That_ made Rudyard snort. Please. Perfect tall successful Eric Chapman.

“I think – I think he’d be good for you. I’m, ah. I’m happy?” Instinctively, that made Antigone wrinkle her nose. The H-word often did. “Happy for you, Rudyard.” With her dress buttoned, she stood and brushed off the front of it. He had a feeling that she could not speak her next words directly to his face. “And – as frustrating as you are sometimes – I’m so pleased I didn’t absorb you in the womb.”

That was it. There were tears in his eyes. In Antigone’s dark bedroom, feeling like his heart had been torn out and stuck in a jar, he was going to cry. As it was, he pushed himself off the bed to face Antigone. “I couldn’t ask for a better twin sister,” he gasped out quickly, tearfully, and as he did, his voice cracked.

They hugged tight. They were not a pair of siblings who hugged much – hell, this was more emotion than they’d probably expressed in years. But this was a different sort of time, wasn’t it? He squeezed her hard. Rudyard allowed himself one more sniffle before pulling himself together. They couldn’t just sob and cry in each other’s arms all night; one might almost think that they _loved_ one another, and Rudyard was not going to abide that.

Antigone released him first, pressing the palm of her hand against her eyes to dry them. “We ought to get back downstairs; they’ll start thinking we’ve murdered one another. Are you … going to talk to Chapman tonight?”

“I don’t – I don’t know,” Rudyard answered honestly. “If the opportunity presents itself, I suppose.”

And with that, they both retreated back towards the living room. Rudyard was quick to see that there was a change in seating arrangements. Georgie had moved over and taken his spot, planting herself right beside Chapman. Chapman’s posture had relaxed considerably. He rested his legs out in front of him, his back resting along the side of the fireplace. Rudyard’s plate (and, subsequently, Madeline) had been moved to Georgie’s previous position.

Rudyard couldn’t help but feel a breath of relief at the notion of not having to sit nearly knee-to-knee with Chapman … but, on the other hand, why had Georgie moved?

The idea that Chapman might have _told_ her what happened was terrifying. _That_ was enough to send him screaming into the night. And, his eye on Madeline, Rudyard try to silently ask _what the hell did they talk about while I was up with Antigone._

Madeline occasionally had a habit of pretending like she couldn’t speak at all, when it didn’t suit her. Instead of making any noise, she just twitched her whiskers at Rudyard.

_I am going to get a mousetrap for you,_ Rudyard tried to convey with his thoughts. _The barbaric kind, with the spring and the cheese. I swear, Madeline._

“There you two are!” Chapman greeted warmly. “We were beginning to think – “

“That you’re murdered each other,” Georgie finished on his behalf.

“Told you.” Antigone disappeared off into the kitchen to make her own plate, soon returning and planting herself on the rug appropriately. “I’ve got to say, it’s a bit strange having .. _people_ over on Christmas Eve.”

“Did you not have people over much, growing up?”

“Oh, _no.”_ The stern disagreement was said in unison, before Rudyard continued. “Mother and Father weren’t really, ah, people-pleasing sort? I suppose? _Definitely_ not one for parties. Antigone, could you imagine?”

“Oh, god, no, those would be _dreadful._ All stiff suits and dresses.”

“There was once or twice when we had people over, but I always presumed it was some sort of business venture. Antigone and I would just throw ourselves into the basement and distract ourselves until it was over.”

“Like when you were teenagers, you mean?” Chapman asked curiously. “Helping out with the body process?”

“We couldn’t have been more than … “ Rudyard thought on his fingers for a moment. “Four or five? Right, no, definitely, because – remember, Antigone, that was great fun – we used to play _tag_ underneath the body tables. Antigone was quite wiry, you see, she could actually hide under them, but there was that once – knocking it _over?”_

Chapman looked deeply alarmed by the story, but Rudyard, Antigone, and Georgie had collapsed into a fit of giggles from it. It was pleasant times, really. Rudyard hadn’t really been surprised when Antigone had taken up near permanent residence in there. Chapman, perhaps through peer pressure, eventually let out a slight titter.

“Suppose that mine were a bit similar? The isolation, I mean. Mother and Father usually brought me to all sorts of parties during the holidays, they didn’t really celebrate themselves – well, that was, up until boarding school, and then things were a bit quieter, really. Ooph, _especially_ around the holidays, with people going home to see their families and everything, sort of kicking around the grounds on my own. I’ve rather gotten used to not doing anything the actual day, so this is … “

All three heads had swivelled around as Chapman shared his sad story. They did it in such unison that Chapman trailed off and focused instead on his food. “This is really quite nice,” he admitted. “The food, I mean. Of course I’ll do the washing up, I feel like I’ve not really done anything since I’ve gotten here.”

“If you’d like.” Georgie shrugged her shoulders. “The fridge is plenty empty, won’t be hard to find space for the leftovers.”

“Squeak.” (“ _Rudyard, would you mind if I had a bit more of that ham?”)_

“Certainly, Madeline, here you are.” Rudyard moved to cut off a large piece of it and shifted it towards the corner of his plate. Pleased, Madeline took the piece with her hands and started to nibble on the ends.

He heard Chapman chuckle. “Don’t want to cut it up for her, Rudyard? Might choke.”

“She isn’t a _child,_ Chapman, don’t be absurd. She’s a fully grown adult mouse; she’s aware of how eat slowly.”

Rather than get defensive, he saw Chapman jokingly put his hands up in surrender, and Rudyard felt the wind get taken out of his sails.

As they ate, he had to slowly admit that he was feeling less alarmed. Chapman wasn’t one to share stories, but he was engaged as the others did: Georgie remarking on her grandmother, Antigone and Rudyard verbally arguing over their shared memories, Madeline occasionally squeaking in about holidays as a child. All the while, the fire crackled peacefully behind them and snow continued to fall silently outside of the window. The ornaments on the tree glittered, and Rudyard felt an absurd amount of warmth in his heart which seemed catastrophically large for the occasion.

He almost didn’t want it to end.


	5. Chapter 5

But, as the fire grew dimmer and their plates grew empty, Rudyard saw Chapman start to rise to his feet. He had an almost childish urge to reach out and tug him down by his silly reindeer jumper. _No, stay, you’ll break the moment._ “I ought to go keep my word, then,” he offered with an airy laugh. He stepped like a giant amongst the seated individuals, picking up plates as he went. “Anyone else want anything? If not, I’ll just start the washing up and then I’ll – “ _I’ll go_ was the obvious unspoken word on his lips, but it didn’t come out. “Thanks, Rudyard,” he instead whispered as he took the man’s plate and disappeared off towards the kitchen.

Antigone was the next to rise, brushing off a few crumbs on her dress. “He’ll spill cider all over himself, it’s a bit higgledy-piggledy in there,” she fussed, stepping over Rudyard and Madeline in order to go to the kitchen. He heard Chapman briefly try and argue her to relax in the kitchen, but a few pointed, harried words of Antigone was enough to counteract that.

Well, good. He’d been meaning a moment alone with Georgie anyway. Georgie stood and reached for a log to add to the fire. “This is good,” she remarked. Timmy lazily watched her from where he was stretched in front of the fire, full of scraps that he’d snatched from plates. Chapman had offered him a mountain of them as a bribe, though Timmy seemed no more inclined towards him. “Having Chapman over, I mean. And the rest of it. Was a good idea.”

“Give it time, I expect he might wash our plates with rat poison.” Rudyard ran his thumb over the top of Madeline’s head affectionately, who seemed rather like she was about to go to sleep on the rug. If she did, Rudyard would have to bring her to the bed in her mousehole. No need to risk her ending up on the underside of someone’s foot.

Georgie laughed a little and reached for the poker. “You know, you’re going to have to stop pretending that you hate him with the passion of a thousand suns.”

“ _Pretending?”_

“Yeah. He mentioned that little, ah, tête-à-tête between you two at the cafe.”

Of _course_ he did. Of course Chapman couldn’t keep one bloody thing to himself, could he? Not like they’d _discussed_ keeping it a secret, and Chapman was free to confess to who he liked, but the idea of all of Piffling Vale knowing was … daunting. Not that Georgie was Piffling Vale, certainly, but still. Rudyard made a noise of disconcertment.

“Ah. What did he say about it, exactly? Because I’d rather him not telling tales that I was some – some trembling heroine in his arms.”

That made Georgie snicker. Her poker successfully dislodged a log and a shower of sparks erupted into the chimney, up and out. Once, when Antigone had been younger, she had improvised a thick net just at the base of the chimney. Her reasoning had been that such a net would catch Santa Claus, but keep him close enough to the fire to function as a sort of interrogation device. Nearly burned the entire place down, she did, and Rudyard made a mental note to bring up _that_ story sometime soon.

“I don’t think anyone could ever call _you_ a trembling heroine, Rudyard. No. He feels bad about it, actually.”

“I … thought it was actually rather good?”

“Not about _that._ Ew. I didn’t ask for a performance review or nothing. He feels bad about _now._ He thinks it’s going to make things between you worse.”

“I accused the man of murder once, Georgie, I _really_ don’t think it can get worse than that.”

“No, but that was in the past, wasn’t it? And things have been, believe it or not, better between you lately. That’s not even going into the lovesickness he’s got.”

A short bark of a laugh, nearly hysterically high-pitched, left him. Rudyard clapped a hand over his mouth and shot a dangerous look towards the kitchen, but if either of them heard him, they didn’t say. He heard the sink running.

“I mean it. He’s got it bad for you, apparently. He said he was ‘sad things couldn’t go differently’.”

“Somehow I don’t think Chapman would very well – I mean, a traditional _date_ –?” The thought seemed bizarre and alien to him. He tried to think of it, sat on either end of a restaurant table with Chapman, cooing pillow talk at one another affectionately. It didn’t seem like it was _him,_ did it? Rudyard didn’t feel like he was _normal_ enough for that, for better or for worse.

Another shower of sparks from the fireplace. “That’s what I told him! Seemed to cheer him up some. He said, at this point, he would be happy if you just didn’t hate him.”

“ _Hate_ him. Good lord.” Seeing Madeline finally fall asleep, Rudyard reached for her and let her rest in his hand. He cast a furtive glance around the small front room and finally reached for his stocking on the mantle. He’d put it back up later, and it _was_ rather fluffy, wasn’t it? He carefully withdrew a thick envelope from it and stuffed it into his pocket before Georgie could see. Setting the stocking on the counter, Rudyard carefully organized it into a rough bed shape and placed the sleeping housemouse onto it.

Madeline taking care of, Rudyard walked to join Georgie by the fire. “It’s a wonder why you put up with all of us, Georgie. Truly. The _antics_ alone that we get into.”

Georgie grinned and gave the logs one last stab with the poker. The fire erupted into a crackling flame, buffeting heat into both of their faces. “Please. You’re family. And I would never want it to be boring, would I?”

How funny, to think of them being family. When they’d first met – well, he had needed someone like Georgie around, but he never quite thought that they’d get that close. Close enough to let Georgie absolutely _drown_ the Funn home in Christmas decorations.

Rudyard’s gaze fell down to the fire. “Well, know how grateful we are. Couldn’t imagine Piffling Vale – or the Funns – without you.” The envelope was quickly extracted from his pocket and shoved towards Georgie. “Here.”

Georgie fixed him with a perplexed look and stared to slide it open, retrieving a piece of paper.

“Thought you’d figured out all your presents, did you? Knew you’d never look into the stockings before tomorrow. Consider it your Christmas bonus.” Rudyard winced. “I know it isn’t much, granted, but - “

His words were suddenly choked out as Georgie threw both arms around him in a suffocating, boa-constrictor hug. Christ, it felt like the life was being slowly sucked out of him. But the gesture was so earnest that Rudyard raised his arm and awkwardly patted her on the back. “Ehm. Very good, Georgie. Very good.”

A beat passed. She was still hugging him. Well, if _she_ was getting something out of it, then Rudyard wasn’t going to complain. “Just wanted to show you that we do appreciate you. Even if Antigone and I are occasionally a touch, ahm – “ A sniff alerted him. “Georgie, are you crying?”

“ _No!”_ A distinctly tearful word was half-huffed at him, hysterical. “ _Course I’m not!”_

The pat on the back turned to rubbing her shoulder blades fondly as Georgie silently pulled herself together. It wasn’t so much about the _money,_ Rudyard knew, but with everything that had gone on in the past year – well. Holidays, he expected, would be difficult for some time to come. A little warmth would not go amiss. And Rudyard could extend some effort for a dear friend.

Chapman was peeking at them from around the corner to the kitchen. Wordlessly, he mouthed ‘ _is she okay?’._

Rudyard half-bared his teeth at him, daring him to come in. They were having a _moment,_ good Lord, and he could wait in the kitchen.

Georgie finally extracted herself from the hug, rubbing her eyes dry. “Christ, look at me,” she muttered. “Going to pop off and make it less obvious, eh? Thanks, boss. For everything.”

And she did, disappearing up the stairs for the bathroom. Chapman wasted no time in coming in, a distinctly worried look crossing over his face. “I, er, I saw – is everything alright, Rudyard?” Antigone was right behind him, the same expression.

Rudyard looked down at his shirt. Rudolph’s head now had a wet mark on it. “Yes, yes, yes yes yes,” he waved them both off. “Everything’s fine, I just - “ A shy smile crossed over his face unwillingly. “Ah, gave her a gift and I suppose that she liked it. Holidays, you know. Does things to people.”

Chapman’s face relaxed, even as Antigone’s contorted into anger.

“You gave her yours already? _God,_ Rudyard, I can’t believe you’ve turned this into a competition, where did you even – I used some of the _royalties_ from the book, it’s hardly like you make anything from the funerals – “ She half-stomped over to rummage through her stocking, extracting an identical envelope to Rudyard’s (much to his surprise). Then, just as quickly, she was up the stairs, calling out Georgie’s name.

It was just he and Chapman, then, and Rudyard gave Chapman a pleased smile. “It’s _nice_ to be first when you didn’t even know you were in a race,” he announced, to which Chapman laughed at him.

“You Funns. Honestly. Nothing ever goes simply, does it?”

“Well. That’s where all the ‘Funn’ is, isn’t it?”

The chuckle was more polite than truly amused, but Rudyard would take it. Christ, it felt like they were facing off towards one another, didn’t it? Rudyard at one end of the room, standing next to the fire. Chapman in the doorway to the kitchen. Nothing but a sleeping mouse and dog between them.

_Lovesick._ The word seemed to echo in his head, over and over. Lovesick. _Chapman,_ of all people, he couldn’t imagine it. He tried to imagine all the holiday parties that Chapman had thrown, the man keeping an eye out all the while, wondering when a certain rival funeral director would make his entrance …

It seemed absurd. Rudyard wasn’t desperately self-disparaging, he didn’t think, but Chapman was practically an entirely different _sort_ of person.

Then again, Chapman had no reason to lie to Georgie, did he? And – for whatever reason – Chapman _had_ kissed him rather eagerly in the cafe. That couldn’t be argued against, either. Rudyard turned towards the fire, and he heard the footsteps of Chapman joining him next to it.

“Rudyard, I – “ He brushed a hand over the side of his face, pulling the skin lightly in frustration. “We don’t have to talk about it. We don’t. But can we talk about _anything?_ We’ve barely been able to share a few words together without it sort of – elephant in the room, I suppose.”

“Don’t say elephant too loud around Madeline.” Rudyard glanced to his side. Chapman wasn’t standing too far away from him, the light from the flames flickering against his jumper. He watched the fire reflected in the red bulb stuck in the middle of it all. Perhaps the jumper wasn’t that ridiculous. Certainly fit Chapman well. He let out a sigh. “We should talk about it, Chapman, I do believe that you’ve gotten the wrong idea about things.”

“How – ah. Georgie told you.”

“She wouldn’t make the most confidential therapist, no.” And he couldn’t be more grateful that Georgie had told him, really. “I don’t _hate_ you. Yes, there was a time when – ‘hate’ might have been the more appropriate word. But good lord, Chapman, matters have changed. I don’t hate what happened.”

Christ, to see Chapman’s posture change from ‘slightly slumped’ to ‘ramrod straight’ was nearly funny. “Oh! Oh, you don’t? That’s … that’s lovely. I thought – I mean, you seemed rather, ehm, for lack of a better word, _into_ it at the time, but -”

“Hah. You remember it that clearly?” Rudyard steely surveyed the fire. “Think I’ve thought about it so much that I can’t remember your _or_ my motivations. Things get twisted, you see.”

“Well.” Chapman trilled his lips. “I suppose I can’t really help you with yours, my degrees aren’t precisely in – well, there is the certificate – look, it doesn’t matter, but I can tell you my motivations if you’d like.”

Perhaps it _would_ be better, to hear it from Chapman’s mouth. Rudyard side-eyed him.

Chapman couldn’t quite return his gaze, from what Rudyard privately suspected was embarrassment rather than deception. Instead, he looked right into the fire between them. “Rudyard, I think I’m … no. I _know_ I’m falling for you.”

“Oh. Oh, right. Of course. Um.” Rudyard should have been expecting it, really, from what Georgie had been telling him, and yet _hearing_ the words come from Chapman’s mouth was something altogether. “That’s … very bad luck for you.”

At the perceived rejection, he saw Chapman stop breathing.

“ _Not because I don’t feel the same._ I meant because, well – for one thing, you really shouldn’t _fall_ for the professional competition. Simply bad business practice. And truly, while I wouldn’t say either of us are out of one another’s leagues, we are practically – what I’m saying is that there’s no vertical movement, neither of one of us are better than the other, but _horizontally,_ I’m saying, we’re practically on different ends of the scale.” He wasn’t explaining this well. Rudyard sighed and perservered on. “Right, so you know how someone asks you if so-and-so is attractive, and you think to yourself, well, not _really_ my thing, but you can sort of hypothesize and say, oh, yes, they’re very attractive, and then you find someone who _is_ your thing and you rate them on an entirely different scale, but you say at the end that they’re very attractive as well? Different shades of the same magnitude?”

It was clear that Chapman hadn’t heard anything but the very first sentence. “You feel the same?”

Rudyard blinked, hard, at the surprise of himself. And …

“Well. It seems that I do.”

He did. He hadn’t the faintest idea of how it would work, but it was clear that if Chapman was the faint sort likely to get sick of him, he would’ve been long gone by now. And, good Lord, he did _like_ Chapman in return. Perhaps not for the reasons that everyone else did – perhaps not because he was generous, perhaps not because he was friendly, perhaps not because he was a shrewd businessman – but rather for the moments of relatable vulnerability that only sought to drive them closer together. When the walls came down.

Chapman made him happy in ways that Rudyard certainly didn’t expect. To see traces of himself in Chapman, to see moments where he made mistakes or lost his temper or simply did not know how this _being alive_ business worked … made him dizzy with contentment. Or perhaps the dizziness came from not thinking about this for so long, about trying to shove the memories and the sensations (and any subsequent romantic feelings) down under a layer of _damn you, Chapman!_

“Oh! Oh, well, that’s – that’s good.”

"It’s good?”

“It is.”

With a surge of cockiness, Rudyard realized that Chapman looked _shy._ The first kiss had been under extraordinary circumstances, hadn’t it? In the morning, when they were practically curled up with one another, with nobody else in the world. Now, it was fast approaching midnight, Rudyard’s sister and assistant were upstairs, and they didn’t have the blanket of grogginess softening things.

Which meant that if Rudyard kissed him _first,_ he would be a braver man than Chapman. Yes, that was how that worked, most certainly. Never mind that he had not actively been the _engager_ to a kiss in his entire life, first time for everything.

It was too sudden. In retrospect, Rudyard understood that. He had raised his hand and held Chapman by the back of his neck to get him closer. Rudyard crashed their lips together much too hard at first, and there was a dangerous _clink!_ As the two lightbulbs on their jumpers clacked together. Rudyard had an awful vision of the two lightbulbs colliding with one another and shattering entirely, driving glass shards through the jumper and into their chests.

Perhaps gentler, then. He let his other arm loop around Chapman’s waist, softening the kiss considerably. Chapman’s lips _were_ very soft and tasted of cider, and the man himself had the soothing scent of cologne all around him. Chapman’s arms snaked around him until Rudyard was being held, pressed up against Chapman’s chest. The bulb on Chapman’s jumper was digging a little uncomfortably into his torso, but Rudyard supposed – for the minute – that he could overlook it.

Chapman was the first to deepen the kiss, but it didn’t take very long for Rudyard to return the favor. He was swept up in it, swept up in the way his heart was racing, swept up in the way Chapman’s arms felt around him, swept up in everything to absolutely _do_ with him. He hated to think of the end of the kiss before it was even ended, but Rudyard vowed that the next kiss would take place much sooner than a few weeks. Much, much sooner indeed.

Good lord, a relationship (and, Rudyard expected, that’s what this was given the extent of Chapman’s feelings – lovesick lovesick lovesick – and his own). His entire face flushed at the prospect.

Air. He definitely needed air, didn’t he? But Chapman had _just_ made the squeakiest little noise, and Rudyard had certainly not _thought_ that was an option, Chapman seemed like the sort to make very masculine grunting noises, but he was _certainly_ going to aim to make him emit that noise again, and he couldn’t think of what had caused it, before, ah, yes, lightly digging his nails into the back of the neck seemed to be the button, and –

Rudyard heard jingling from the stairs.

They separated, insofar as Rudyard’s hands moved to press against Chapman’s chest (ready to shove him away and flee, if necessary) and Chapman’s arms loosened around Rudyard’s body. Mortified, they turned to see Antigone and Georgie watching from the top of the stairs.

“Under the mistletoe, boss?” Georgie asked, a widely pleased grin on her face. All traces of her prior crying had stopped, replaced instead by mocking amusement. “Little cliché, don’t you think?”

Stunned, Rudyard looked up. And there it was – sello-taped to the ceiling, high above their heads, was a bit of mistletoe. “How did you – who put that up there?” Rudyard asked weakly, before glancing over at Chapman. “Did _you_ know about that?”

“It’s – I mean, it’s not a magic _spell,_ Rudyard, it’s just a bit of plant. It’s. I mean, I did _glance_ at it, yes, but that doesn’t _mean_ anything.”

“Would you like us to disappear up here for a bit?” Antigone asked teasingly. There was a box of … something clenched in her hands. Rudyard couldn’t see. “Give the lovebirds some time alone, _hm?_ Though I’d ask you kindly not to desecrate –”

“Alright, that’s enough.” The mood, whatever it had been, was well and truly dead. He disentangled himself from Chapman’s arms, causing Chapman to grant him a look so hang-dog that Rudyard was tempted to grab his hand to soothe him.

_Euch._ How soft he’d grown in the space of two minutes.

“Took you two long enough, anyway. Sorry to interrupt,” Georgie announced, before reaching over and giving the box in Antigone’s hands a pat. “But I found an entire box of Christmas crackers up here. We _could_ wait until tomorrow with them, _orrrrr.”_

Now, that was certainly a temptation. Back when they’d been young, Christmas crackers had been violent sport between he and Antigone. They’d acquire some through various means and scurry off with them, both pulling on one end. The one who got the larger bit would keep the prize hidden inside – or, usually, the one who successfully won the wrestling match after they pulled the cracker would keep the prize. More often than not, it was Antigone, but Rudyard got his licks in. Sometimes quite literally, licking the prize was usually a good way to ensure keeping it.

While he had no doubt that it would go a _little_ more civilly this time around, the memories were good and Rudyard was keen to make new ones. He opened his mouth to break in before Chapman beat him to the punch.

“Ha, it’s – it’s getting a little late, and I certainly wouldn’t want to intrude – anymore than I already have,” Chapman offered, and good lord, the man still seemed _bashful._ His gaze was on the floor. “I really am grateful for tonight, you know, of course, but I’m sure you all would prefer – “

Rudyard’s hand snapped out to grab Chapman’s.

“Don’t be absurd.” Rudyard’s voice was direct but quiet, piercing directly to Chapman. “You can’t just _go_ now -” For a few reasons, one of which being that he feared Chapman’s absence would mean they simply wouldn’t _talk_ about this ever again. He certainly didn’t want that. Rudyard’s eyes flicked to the window. “It’s, it’s. It’s blizzarding. Look at it outside, it would be monstrous to make you walk outside in that.”

Everyone’s gaze flicked over to stare through the window. A half-inch, at most, of snow dusted the ground. The flakes were still falling, but not in any sort of meaningful fashion. Under other circumstances, Rudyard would feel confident that _Madeline_ could make it to Chapman’s and back in this weather.

“ _Blizzarding,”_ Rudyard insisted. “We have plenty of room to put you up here for a night.”

Where they would put him, exactly, Rudyard wasn’t positive. His own bed was a tantalizing prospect, of course, but also that broached the topic of _sex_ and _that_ was a little terrifying to consider on Christmas Eve when he and his sister shared a very thin wall. But Chapman, Rudyard was convinced, would be almost infuriatingly gentlemanly about sharing a bed with him – just like he’d been infuriatingly gentlemanly about sharing body heat with him during the cafe.

Chapman was shaking their shared hands, trying to get his attention. Oh – it appeared as if he zoned out. “Well, if you _insist,”_ Chapman was saying with a wide grin, “Then of course I’ll stay.”


	6. Epilogue

Christmas cracker wrappers were scattered along the floor of the front room at Funn funerals, and it was nearly two in the morning. While most of the individuals in the room didn’t drink, there was nonetheless a sort of intoxication in the air – Rudyard shuddered to think that it might have been a sense of _belonging._

He, himself, was wearing a paper crown that he’d won in the very first pull. Granted, Chapman had won it, and then Chapman had lovingly placed it upon his head and remarked that it matched his eyes. He hadn’t been looking _at_ Rudyard’s eyes when he said it.

Antigone and Georgie were sitting cross-legged, both tugging at opposite ends of a cracker. Antigone gave one final yank and ended up with the prize – three marbles tumbled into her lap and went skittering across the floor. Madeline, awoken from her food stupor, bounded along to collect them dutifully.

Initially, Chapman had maintained a few inches distance away from Rudyard when they’d sat down. Throughout the course of the night, though, he’d shifted closer and closer – and by the time he had formally crowned Rudyard, Chapman had attained an ounce of confidence. His arm rested comfortably around Rudyard’s back while they sorted through their loot. A few empty plates littered the floor after an abrupt second dinner. Half-drank cider sat in various containers. The lightbulb on Rudyard’s jumper had burned out about twenty minutes ago.

“Alright! Alright, all, what’s this one.” Chapman retrieved a piece of paper from the pile and squinted at it. After Antigone’s insistence that she was _very_ good at guessing jokes, Chapman had aimed to test her at it. “What do you call a snowman who goes on holiday in the tropics?”

“ _Dead!”_ Antigone called out, eagerly enough that the bells on her headband jingled with emphasis.

“Ah, no, that’ll be – a puddle, actually.”

“She isn’t wrong, though, you know.” Rudyard murmured, half-asleep, against Chapman’s shoulder. Certainly the time to go up to bed had long since past, but nobody had yet sounded the call to depart ways for the night. And, he had to admit, Chapman’s side was very comfortable. The fire at his back even moreso. “If a snowman has sentience enough to holiday, a snowman has sentience enough to die.”

“I dunno if I’d call a puddle a ‘dead snowman’,” Georgie remarked thoughtfully. She stroked Timmy’s back while she talked. Rather worn from all the celebrations, he had awoken briefly to beg for scraps and then had fallen asleep once more. “Seems a bit morbid, y’know. After a rainy day, going out, plenty of dead snowmen lying about.”

“Well. Can’t have morbid in this house, can we? Alright, this one – why was the snowman rummaging in a bag of carrots?”

This gave Antigone time to pause, before answering sincerely: “Vitamin C.”

“Ah, he was picking his _nose.”_

“Chapman, don’t be crass,” Rudyard chastised, again so quietly that perhaps only Chapman could hear it. “There’s a _lady_ present.” Said lady was currently curled up on Timmy’s paw, finding the fur on the small dog rather comfortable. He’d have to move her sooner or later. Timmy had a habit of kicking in his sleep. Oh, but he was so _comfortable._ He let his eyes graciously slide shut against Chapman’s side, his mouth going slack.

“D’you think snowmen might have different preferences for noses?” Georgie popped in again, fidgeting with the end of her tinsel boa. “That’d be horrifying, wouldn’t it? Rummaging through a bag of bloody noses, trying to find the best fit.”

“Yes, it would, thank you, Georgie. Alright, then – what did Rudolph say when he saw Prancer fall?”

“We’ve got to call emergency services immediately; I suspect damage to the spinal cord.”

That did manage to make Chapman chuckle. Rudyard, who had almost entirely fallen asleep against Chapman’s shoulder, could feel it echo around his chest. That was nice. That was a nice sensation. Sort of like white noise, except blood and tubes instead of the ocean. “It’s actually ‘oh, deer.’”

“Yes, love?” Rudyard slurred out groggily.

_That_ got a good laugh out of everyone, for reasons that Rudyard was not actually sure of. Hardly mattered, though, because he felt Chapman kiss the top of his head warmly. “Nothing. Go back to sleep, darling, we’re just telling jokes at one another.”

“Rudyard’s always been a bit of a lightweight,” Georgie advised. “If Antigone’s a night owl, Rudyard’s more of a swamp log.”

That sounded like an insult, it certainly did. Either way, the phrase ‘go back to sleep’ did remind Rudyard of something that he had to do. “Mm, in a moment. Madeline,” he muttered, forcing himself away from Chapman and standing blearily. He walked over to the sleeping mouse and gently picked her up from Timmy’s paw. Best to keep her away from all the noise.

Going over to a small collection of mouse-sized furniture (roughly put together, of course, but Madeline preferred it all the same), Rudyard tucked Madeline underneath the light little blanket. “Good night, Madeline,” he advised. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

In that moment, Madeline’s eyes cracked open. Two beady black eyes stared up at him, reflected against her brown and grey fur. Her pink little nose twitched.

“Squeak.” (“ _Rudyard?”)_

“Yes, Madeline?”

“Squeak.” (“ _You truly are the best friend that a mouse could ask for. I couldn’t imagine doing my work anywhere else.”)_

Rudyard glanced back to the party that he had momentarily left behind. The space underneath Chapman’s arm seemed rather empty, and he was going to rectify that as soon as possible. They were all laughing over something or other – Antigone, in particular, laughing so hard that she had partially fallen over onto Georgie’s shoulder. The end of Georgie’s tinsel boa tickled her nose and Antigone sneezed, causing all three to dissolve into the sort of uproarious guffaw that could only be achieved past two in the morning.

He turned back towards his housemouse and dearest friend. “Neither could I, Madeline. Sweet dreams and Merry Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, everyone. Thanks so much for reading and happy holidays, wherever you are. <3


End file.
